Dangerous Territory
by Fluid Consciousness
Summary: A three part telling of the romance between Lyna Mahariel and Alistair. Full of fluff and other stuff...
1. Communication Breakdown

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **Just how I imagine a possible romance unraveling between our favourite ex-templar and the female Dalish elf Warden.

* * *

**Communication Breakdown**

He wasn't sure of the exact moment that he'd begun to see her in a different light.

Perhaps it had been the kindness she'd shown the sick mabari hound. Or was it when she'd berated Morrigan for mocking him over his grief at losing Duncan? He hadn't expected her to care about his feelings. But when the witch had made her acerbic remark about him falling on his blade in grief, his fellow Warden hadn't hesitated in stepping in, her tone stoic, but leaving no room for argument. _"Leave him be, Morrigan." _Yes, her tone had been stoic, yet her eyes had been unrelenting, and they bore into the witch. For the first time since they'd met her, Morrigan actually looked ill at ease. The problem was that she barely spoke to _him_, save to shout out orders during battle.

Now, many months and several traveling companions later, they had still hardly uttered more than two sentences to each other. Most of their conversations consisted of him trying to discuss a plan of action, and her monosyllabic replies. She didn't even call him by name, instead referring to him as 'shemlen'. He had found it offensive at first, but he'd eventually gotten used to it.

On this particular evening, she was busy bartering with Bodahn over the price of some sort of sword she wanted to sell. He tried hard not to listen in or look at her, but with each passing day the need to watch her was becoming overwhelming. So entranced was he that he hadn't noticed the assassin sliding in to sit next to him.

"Enjoying the view?" came the soft purr in his ear. Alistair nearly leapt out of his armour, his heart hammered in his chest.

"Maker's breath, Zevran! Don't sneak up on me like that!" he bellowed. He sincerely hoped the Antivan didn't notice the blush that had begun to spread across his cheeks.

Zevran shrugged a shoulder. "Is it my fault that you were so captivated by our leader that you failed to hear me approach?" He gave Alistair a knowing grin. Although he had been adamant in his objections at having the assassin join them, Alistair did have to admit that the elf was good in combat. In the past couple of months they had even managed to maintain a tenuous agreement: you don't mess with me, I won't mess with you. It allowed them to be civil with one another when under normal circumstances, one or both of them would have been dead by now.

"I was not captivated by anything!" Alistair snapped. "I was simply…" He sighed when he saw Zevran rolling his eyes. "Is it that obvious?"

"To all but her, I do believe. Though she has little time for anything but fighting, it would seem," Zevran remarked. "Have you thought about telling her directly?"

Alistair's eyes widened. "Are you insane? We barely speak to each other. I don't even think she likes me enough to consider me a friend," his voice had taken on a rather sorrowful tone.

"Have you not made the gesture yet?" Zevran asked.

"Gesture? What gesture?" Alistair was confused. He was supposed to make some sort of gesture? Why hadn't anyone told him this?

"Ah, that is why she does not speak with you. Let me explain. With the Dalish, and all elves really, customs are key and need to be respected. One very important custom is the gesture of friendship. This is something the elves do in order to show that they bear no ill will to the other," Zevran tilted his head to one side. "I am somewhat surprised that you have never heard of this."

Alistair shook his head. "No, I don't know much of anything about the elves, least of all their customs. So what is this gesture?" Alistair was incredibly excited. Had he known about this friendship gesture, he'd have performed it months ago. How much time had been wasted because of miscommunication? There was so much about his fellow Warden that he wanted to know, and perhaps now she would be willing to hold actual conversations with him.

"The gesture is quite simple," Zevran replied. "All you need do is run your index finger up the length of her ear and brush your thumb against the pointed tip."

Alistair swallowed audibly. "I - I need to touch her ear?" He chewed on his lower lip. He'd always found her ears quite attractive. She kept her wheat coloured hair cropped short, and her pointed ears were constantly exposed. He'd often wondered what they felt like. Would this be his opportunity?

"That's all," Zevran smiled. "Once you perform that gesture, she will know that you wish to be friends." The assassin stood and wandered back over to his side of the camp. Alistair turned his attention back to the female Warden. He didn't notice the wicked sneer that had curled on Zevran's lips.

* * *

She returned an hour later with a small sack filled with several sovereigns. She deposited the bag in one of her packs and extracted one of her daggers. It had some kind of elvish name, he believed. Dar'misu if he wasn't mistaken. She began to sharpen the blade against a whet stone, her tawny, almond shaped eyes completely absorbed in the task. For the millionth time he examined her facial tattoos. They were much more intricate than Zevran's. Whenever he looked at her markings, he was somehow reminded of a silken spider's web, a beautiful pattern that had been woven specially for her features. He mustered his courage and wandered over to her, taking a seat next to her by the fire.

"Lyna?" he asked.

"Yes, shemlen?" Maker, that voice! It was slightly husky, but with a distinct feminine timbre. Every time he heard it, which was almost never, he felt a chill run down his spine.

"Why don't we ever, you know, talk?" he tilted his head to one side while he regarded her. Her gaze flickered over to him for a moment before returning to the blade.

"We speak when it is necessary. Is that not enough?" she replied. The sound of the whet stone sliding across her blade filled the campsite. _Scrape scrape scrape._

"Well, I suppose that's alright, but I thought maybe we could just talk when it isn't necessary too," Alistair could feel the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Was now the right time to do the gesture?

"What would be the point in speaking when it isn't necessary?" Lyna asked. She had yet to turn and face him. She continued to sharpen her blade. _Scrape scrape scrape._

"I just thought that maybe, by us talking about stuff, we would someday become…friends?" He hesitated and then reached up with one hand, extending his index finger. He brought his finger to her earlobe and softly, slowly, glided his finger along the length of her ear. As he reached the pointed part he let his thumb rub against it gently. It felt exquisite. He saw her sharp intake of breath and was about to smile when she whipped around, her blade suddenly pressed against his throat. He didn't dare speak, didn't dare move. Her eyes were narrowed and full of such animosity he could scarcely meet them full on.

"How dare you?" she hissed. "Do that again and I will not hesitate to kill you." She yanked the blade away and stalked off toward her tent. Alistair sat there a moment, completely bewildered.

Leliana had watched the entire exchange silently. It was then that she chose to speak. "What was that about?"

Alistair shrugged, his eyes locked on Lyna's tent. "I have no idea. I was just trying to show her that I wanted to be friends…I just did the elf thing that Zevran told me about…" He shook his head.

"Zevran told you to do an elf thing, and you took him on his word?" Leliana asked incredulously. "Surely you are not that naive. He wants her for himself, why would he give you advice?"

Alistair blinked. He hadn't thought of that, hadn't thought of it at all. His bewilderment turned into anger. "I'm going to kill that bloody elf!" He got to his feet. Leliana jumped in front of him, pressing her hands against his chest.

"No, that will only make things worse. Let me talk to her. I'm sure I can explain things. She may not care, I don't know, but let's not resort to violence right away," she fixed Alistair with a pleading stare and he sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Good. I'll talk to her in the morning after she's cooled down. You should go to bed."

As Alistair made his way to his tent, he spared a glance over his shoulder, his eyes falling on Lyna's tent. He resisted the urge to go to her, to try and explain himself. He knew enough about the Dalish Warden to know that bothering her while she was angry would be an incredibly bad idea. As he stripped off his clothes in his tent, a sudden thought popped into his head. If the gesture that Zevran had described hadn't been one of friendship, what exactly did it mean? For all he knew he could have just shown Lyna the elven gesture for "you're an ugly shrew and I think you should cover your head with a linen sack". It must have been something awful to have caused her to react in such a way. With his arms folded beneath his head, Alistair stared up at the ceiling of his tent, wondering if Leliana would be successful in convincing Lyna that his intentions had been purely good.


	2. Confusion

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters.

* * *

**Confusion**

Alistair ate his breakfast away from everyone else the next morning. He grabbed his plate and trudged through the forest surrounding their campsite. After several minutes he found a clearing. He sat on a nearby treestump. He wanted to give Leliana the opportunity to explain things to Lyna, and he also didn't think that he could stomach a full meal around that slimy assassin. He wondered if he had any chance at salvaging even a tenuous friendship with Lyna. He knew that given the xenophobic ways of the Dalish, he could never hope for anything that would even remotely resemble a romance.

But didn't they share a bond, both of them being Wardens? Was that just something he was clinging to, grasping at, some small hold that he might have on her?

"Shemlen," Alistair let out a yelp of surprise and spun around to find Lyna staring down at him. She had her arms folded over her chest. That was a good sign. That meant she was being 'passive Lyna'. Lyna had two resting stances: 'passive Lyna' and 'aggressive Lyna'. Right now, standing over him, was 'passive Lyna'. Had she walked up to him with her hands on her hips, she'd have been 'aggressive Lyna' which could be bad, because it usually led to yelling and icy glares.

"Lyna! Sorry, you just startled me," Alistair said by way of recovery. Lyna nodded curtly and walked round until she was facing him fully, saving him from having to crane his neck to look at her. She continued to stare at him evenly, seemingly sizing him up. She apparently came to a decision of sorts and promptly sat on the ground in front of him, her legs folded 'lotus' style.

"I wanted to apologize for the other night, shem. I had an inkling that you did not know what you were doing, and the singing shemlen explained everything to me this morning," she licked her lips and shifted slightly. "It wasn't right of me to react the way that I did. From what the others had told me about you, I should have known you wouldn't have…"

Alistair's mouth hung agape. "Whoa…you're apologizing to _me_? I was about to apologize to you! Honestly Lyna, you have nothing to be sorry for. I should have never listened to Zevran of all people." He looked down at his plate of breakfast, then glanced back at her. "What does that gesture mean, anyway?"

Lyna's cheeks began to burn. She cleared her throat. "Before I tell you, I need to first explain that while we Dalish are not entirely fond of the City Elves, we do share some customs from time to time. The problem therein is that because the City Elves live among humans, sometimes humans take those customs and twist them to meet their own needs," she glanced up at him to ensure that he understood. "One of these customs is the one you performed on me last night. The meaning behind it is decidedly different when a human performs the gesture than if, say, an elf were to perform it."

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. This was the most she'd ever spoken to him. "Did I challenge you to a duel or something?"

Lyna's face turned an even brighter shade of red. "No…you…" she took a deep breath. "That gesture is a way of showing someone that you wish to mate with them."

Alistair felt like he'd just swallowed his own tongue. He made a strangled sound in his throat. When he was finally able to pull himself together, Lyna had continued speaking.

"So you see, when humans perform that act, it's as if they are showing the elf that they hold power over them, it's meant to be a mockery of a loving and caring custom," she heaved a loud sigh, finally able to bring herself to look into Alistair's eyes.

"I am so sorry Lyna, I can only imagine what you must have thought about me. I in no way feel I hold pow-"

Lyna held up a hand. "Don't be foolish, shemlen. I know that not all humans are the same. It's a lesson I learned when Duncan saved my life. I also know that not all Dalish are alike, because of our experiences with the clan that Zathrian kept. I did not fear your intentions, for I knew that you do not possess that sort of cruelty."

"Oh," Alistair said softly. "Hey, why do you call Duncan by his name, but insist upon calling me shemlen?"

A smile crept up Lyna's lips. "Well, he did save me. And he earned my respect. As such, I shall treat his memory fondly and with the respect it deserves."

Alistair gave a look of mock horror. "You mean to say you don't have any respect for me? You wound me, dear lady!" He clutched his chest for added effect.

"I'm not sure what I feel about you, silly shemlen." She turned her gaze to the sky. A light seemed to go on behind Alistair's eyes.

"Wait, if you knew that I didn't mean…well the mating thing by that gesture….then why did you go berserk and get mad at me?" he asked.

Lyna's eyes captured his. At that moment he felt that he wouldn't be able to move if he tried. He watched as she once more seemed to be assessing him. He could almost see the thoughts spiralling behind those beautiful tawny eyes. "I was not mad at you. I was mad at myself," she said softly.

"Why?" Alistair asked. He was riveted by her gaze.

"Because of how I reacted. The ears of an elf are sensitive indeed, and thus creates quite a spark when the right kind of someone decides to perform the…gesture. I was taken aback by my reaction. It's as simple as that." Lyna explained. She got up, as she had apparently decided that the conversation had finished.

"But I don't get it!" Alistair exclaimed. "Why should you be mad? Because you were revolted, and you don't like feeling that way? I really don't get it."

Lyna sighed and cast a glance over her shoulder. "Idiot shem, I was mad at myself because of how much I enjoyed it."

_She enjoyed it?! _Alistair was reeling at her admission.

When Alistair wandered back to camp, everyone had risen. There were a few small differences, however. Leliana was giggling softly, not much of a difference there; but the black eye that Zevran was sporting was definitely not there when he'd seen him last night.

"Wynne," Zevran smiled at the mage. "Would you be so kind as to work your magic and rid my face of this horrid bruising?"

Wynne simply raised an eyebrow and let out a huff. "I don't waste my time casting spells to heal injuries that were well deserved," she replied primly. Zevran cursed under his breath and scowled in Alistair's direction. Alistair couldn't help but smile. Whenever he saw Wynne he thanked the Maker that she'd been willing to enter the Fade to save Connor. Sure, Morrigan could have done it, but she had said on numerous occasions that she was not interested in wasting her time. With the help of Wynne and the Circle, they had been able to save not only Connor, but spared Lady Isolde having to sacrifice herself. All of it had been possible because of Lyna. Alistair had been certain that she would share Sten's view and simply kill Connor to avoid the messiness that magic so often carried with it. Even Jowan's suggestion of blood magic would have been an easier option. He could still remember her reaction to Jowan's idea.

_"Shemlen," she whispered over her shoulder to Alistair. "What is this…blood magic that the shem mage refers to?"_

_Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's when you use your own blood or the blood of another to cast powerful spells. Sometimes it involves controlling the minds of others, draining them of life…Essentially you're stealing other peoples' blood or using your own to cast spells." Alistair shook his head. "I may be a bit bias but-"_

_"Agar'templa," Lyna hissed. Alistair gave her a confused look. "We have a similar practice. Our clan is not in favour of it. Though it holds a great deal of power, many innocents have suffered. This…blood magic you speak of is not an option here."_

_"Well, we could get enough lyrium and more mages at the Circle of Magi, assuming they'd even do it," Alistair suggested._

_"We will go to the Circle, then. We have a treaty with them, have we not? They will help." Lyna turned to Bann Teagan. "We are going to this Circle of Magi to find more mages. We shall return."_

And they had. If Alistair had had any doubts about his feelings for Lyna, they had all perished as soon as he'd seen Connor free of the influence of the demon. He had tried to thank her for showing so much compassion, but she had brushed him off.

But now…now she had confessed that she had enjoyed his touch. Maker, he was so bad at this kind of thing. He needed some advice. He headed toward Leliana, who was busy playing with her nug Schmooples.

"Thanks," he said to her. "For straightening things out." He gave her a sheepish grin.

"Think nothing of it, Alistair. She had an idea that you didn't know what you were doing, and when I told her that Zevran had told you, well…" she inclined her head in the assassin's direction, obviously referring to his black eye.

"Yeah, she told me," he arched a brow. "Why is it that everyone thinks I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to that sort of thing?" He asked petulantly.

"Well, do you?"

"No, I have no idea. Can you help?" he looked at Leliana hopefully. She chuckled.

"I may have a few things I can teach you. Do you know if she returns your affection?"

"Well, when I asked why she reacted so violently to the whole…me touching her ear thing, she said she was mad at herself because she enjoyed it." Alistair replied. "Is that a good thing?"

Leliana's eyes widened. "She actually told you that? Yes, it is a good thing. Only…"

"Only what?"

"Well," the bard began. "She is probably confused. Her people have taught her to hate humans. Yet here she is, clearly attracted to one. Her experiences throughout this adventure have no doubt taught her that not everything we are taught is true…but is she ready to make such a big step…to love a human man…"

"I was thinking of giving her this," Alistair held out the rose he'd been carrying since Lothering.

"Is that…that's the rose! You picked it?!" Leliana's gaze darted from the rose to Alistair. "It's the one I saw after my dream, isn't it?"

"I…I don't know? I picked it in Lothering," he said.

"Yes, that's the one," Leliana sighed. "Well, if anyone deserves that rose, it's her. Yes, give her the rose Alistair. Tell her how much she means to you. She may not know how to react, but at least she will know how you feel. Don't be surprised if she rebuffs you or reacts angrily. Just tell her, and then give her space to think."

Alistair nodded once before heading toward Lyna's side of the camp, rose in hand.

"You think of me as a gentle flower?" Lyna stared down at the rose.

"A gentle flower? I don't know if I'd say that. It's just that you haven't experienced all of the good parts of being a Grey Warden. You've been doing all of this without a word of thanks, and I just wanted to let you know what a rare and wonderful thing you are in a world full of darkness," he glanced at her, breath held.

"Thank you, shemlen," she said stiffly. "It is a nice gesture."

"I…" Alistair sighed. "You're welcome. Maybe it was a dumb idea…I'll just talk to you later." He turned, his ears burning at his embarrassment.

"Wait!" Lyna grabbed hold of his arm. Without saying a word she reached up with one hand, and for a moment Alistair thought she was going to slap him. Instead, she let her fingertips glide first from his forehead then gently down to his chin. He heard Zevran hissing on the other side of camp, and Wynne gasped. Lyna was blushing fiercely. She turned and entered her tent, leaving Alistair to stand there dumbfounded.

"What was that?" Alistair asked no one in particular. Wynne chuckled knowingly.

"I have read a bit about Dalish customs, young man. I believe our leader just professed an interest in you. Publicly." Wynne grinned and folded her arms over her chest. Leliana let out a squeal of glee.

Alistair continued to stand there.


	3. Over the Edge

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

**Warning: **Smut ahead!

* * *

**Over the Edge**

"Bard! I require your assistance. My hair has grown too much and I need help shortening it." Lyna appeared from her tent, straight razor in hand. It had been two days since she'd publicly admitted her interest in Alistair, and they hadn't spoken once. Alistair imagined that she either regretted her actions, or was embarrassed by them.

"Lyna, you know that I think your hair would look lovely if you grew it out. I won't play any part in butchering your locks," Leliana replied stubbornly.

"But-but I have everything set up in my tent! All you have to do is chop away!" Lyna was growing increasingly agitated.

"Too bad, you'll have to suffer," the bard said. Lyna clenched her jaw.

"I can help," Alistair said before he realized he was speaking. Lyna snapped her gaze in his direction. She chewed on her lower lip, the straight razor twirling dangerously between her fingers.

"Alright," she said finally. "Thank you." Alistair felt his heart flutter. He shot a glance at Leliana, who was doing her best to cover a smile. Lyna ducked into her tent and Alistair followed close behind. He shucked his plate gloves and tossed them just outside of her tent. He had never been in Lyna's tent before, and he was surprised to find several history books lying against her bedroll. It seemed she was in the midst of reading two books in particular as they had each been dog eared in several places. One was a book on the Tevinter Imperium. The other was a book on the history of the Chantry.

"Interesting reading material," Alistair remarked.

Lyna was seated on her knees, her back facing him. She glanced over her shoulder at his comment and smiled. "I didn't realize how little I knew about you shems until we started our journey," she explained. "I find your take on the Elvhenan to be quite skewed, though the same could be said for us." She passed him the straight razor. He took it and got on his knees behind her. A small bowl of water sat next to them. He placed the razor between his teeth (dull edge in, of course) and dipped his hands into the bowl. He ran his fingers through her hair, dampening it. It felt soft and silky beneath his fingertips, and it darkened to a light brown once he had wet it thoroughly. He dried his hands on a nearby cloth that Lyna had left out and took the straight razor from his mouth. He began cutting at her tresses. He tried to envision the length her hair had been when they'd first met and did his best to achieve that length. As he gauged the length by her ears, his fingers brushed against the pointed tips lightly. Once again she inhaled sharply, only this time, she didn't spin around and hold a dagger to his throat. He held his breath and tentatively began to rub his thumb against the pointy edge of her ear. Her breath hitched and she mewled softly. Alistair's mouth went dry. He felt himself become hard at the sound he had elicited from her. He continued to rub gently. Her breathing increased.

"You are treading on dangerous territory," she whispered breathlessly. "Do not start something that you can't finish…"

He knelt forward, his lips brushing against her ear. "I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured. His tongue snaked out and he captured her lobe between his teeth. He nibbled gently, something he'd been longing to do the moment he'd set eyes on her. She moaned and reached up, her fingers grasping at the back of his neck. He leaned back and wrapped an arm around her, spinning her so that she faced him. Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting, the desire she exuded was almost palpable. He drew her in closer, her heaving chest pressed against his own. She gazed up at him, the colour shifting from tawny, to raw umber, to bronze…her eyes pleaded with him to continue. He needed no convincing. He leaned in, closing the gap between them. His lips pressed against hers, her arms circled his neck. He felt her tongue gently prodding at his lips, and he gladly allowed her entry to his mouth, his own tongue meeting hers. Their kissing became more fervent, the demands of their bodies increased. Soon she was grappling with the buckles of his armour, and he was tugging at the tough Dalish leather covering her breasts. It wasn't long before they were in nothing but their small clothes, and he had drawn her into his lap. She straddled him, and he felt the dampness of her sex pressed against his erection. She shifted her hips slightly, rubbing against his bulge. He let out a groan.

"I-I've never done this. I don't know if I'm even doing it right-" he murmured. She pressed a finger to his lips. With a gentle push she had him on his back. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her small clothes and pushed them down her hips and past her thighs, kicking them to one side. She straddled him anew, and Alistair took in her form. He wanted to explore every inch of her body, to taste her. He vowed that he wouldn't rest until he had sated her every desire. His hands glided up her sides and settled on her breasts, cupping them gently. His thumb flicked against the pale pink bud of her nipple, and she moaned once again, her hips shimmying in a decidedly torturous manner. She reached behind her and pulled his throbbing manhood free of its constraint, her fingers running along the underside of his shaft before giving a gentle pump. He gasped and his back arched slightly. She giggled, actually _giggled_, and he knew then and there that he'd broken past her wall of stoicism. He'd ignited a passion within her that would not be extinguished. She gazed down at him, the question in her eyes. He nodded. She lifted up and slowly impaled herself on him. His eyes rolled back at the sensation of her velvet walls enveloping him. Nothing he'd read or heard could accurately describe the pleasure he was experiencing buried deep within her. She rode him, hands pressed against his chest. His first instinct was to lie there and bask in the sheer ecstasy of it all. Soon another instinct took over and he began to thrust into her, which in turn caused her to cry out. It was music to his ears. His fingers gripped at the flesh of her hips as he plunged into her. She leaned forward, one hand on either side of his head. Her hips rose and she glided up his entire length, only to have him buck up and into her. As his pace increased she felt the familiar tension in her lower abdomen. Her fingers raked against his chest, she begged him to continue. He was loathe to deny her. She bit her lower lip and her head lolled backward. At the precise moment that she climaxed she called out his name, and that had sent him tumbling over the edge. With one last thrust his seed spilled into her, and she collapsed onto his chest.

They lay there for some time, tangled together.

"Well," Alistair murmured. "That was not what I had anticipated when I volunteered to cut your hair."

Lyna slapped him playfully. "Silly shem," she muttered.

_Oh well, _Alistair thought. _After hearing her cry out my name a few times, I think I can live with being called a shem once in a while._


End file.
